“Well, Will, what brings you out this way?”
“Morning, Miz Clay,” he called out cheerfully.
“There might be a little bit of coffee left in the pot,” she offered.
“Oh, no, ma’am, thank you, ma’am. I’m kinda in a hurry.”
“Oh? Well, what can I do for you?”
“I’m looking for Dakota—I mean Tom Allred. Mr. Clay said he might be headin’ this way. I borrowed ten dollars off him, and I’m afraid he might be leavin’ before I pay him back. Did he pass this way?”
“Why, yes, he did. You just missed him as a matter of fact. Couldn’t be gone more than a half hour or so.”
“He didn’t happen to mention which way he was headin’, did he?”
“Well, no, he didn’t say. I was in the barn when he left, but I noticed he headed west, toward the pass I would guess.”
“Much obliged, Miz Clay.” He wheeled his horse and galloped out of the yard.
* * *
Tom let the horses drink from the tiny stream that made its way around the rocks and down the slope toward the valley. While they drank, he dismounted and walked to the top of the hill. He stood there for a while, studying his backtrail. Maybe it was just a routine precaution, or maybe something just told him to watch his back. Whatever prompted him, it turned out to be justified, for on the horizon some three or four miles back, a lone rider was coming on at a fast pace. Could be he was tracking him. Or it could be that he was just in a hurry to get where he was going, and just happened to be going the same direction Tom was. There was nothing so unusual about that. If a man was heading west, as Tom was, the easiest route was to cut through the pass and then traverse this low ridge to the valley on the other side. Still, he thought, that rider is pushing his horse pretty hard, like he was trying to catch up with someone. Since he was the only rider on the trail, Tom decided it might be a good idea to find out if he was being trailed.
He went back to the horses, mounted, and rode out across the ridge. Once he had traversed the low ridge and reached the valley, he changed his direction, heading on a more southerly course. He rode on for another mile or so, climbing up into the low hills again, until he came to a good place to stop and again watch his backtrail. From the cover of the trees growing on the small knoll, he could see almost back to the stream where he had changed directions. It wasn’t long before his suspicions were confirmed. The rider stopped, studied his tracks, then turned south and followed Tom’s trail.
He quickly tied the horses off in a deep gully and, pulling his rifle from the saddle boot, ran back up the trail to a large rock outcropping that gave him a good defensive position to check out his pursuer. He lay on his belly and waited. His wait was not long. The rider soon came into view. They saw each other at the same time. Tom rose to one knee, his rifle leveled at the rider. The rider abruptly reined to a stop, his horse’s hooves plowing up snow and dirt.
“Tom! Hold it!” he called out, fighting to control his horse, which had been spooked by the sudden appearance of the man before him. “It’s me! Will Proctor!”
Tom released the hammer on his rifle and stood up. “Will, what the hell are you doing out here?”
Now that his horse was quieted some and under control, Will smiled and dismounted. “Trying to catch up with you,” he said.
Tom was still cautious. “Sheriff’s business?”
Will flashed his smile again. “Naw, hell no,” he was quick to reassure. “You don’t see no badge, do you? I quit this morning.”
“Quit? What for?”
“Well, to tell you the truth, I’m sick of being a lawman. Time I was moving on.”
Tom made no attempt to hide his opinion on the matter. “Damn, Will, I don’t know if that was a smart thing to do or not. Looked to me like you had it pretty nice there, working for Aaron. What the hell else are you going to do that’s any better?” He slid down from the rock he had been lying on. “It might have been a better idea to at least wait until spring.”
“Maybe, but I figured to catch up with you. I didn’t know you was plannin’ on leavin’ town today.”
Tom was puzzled. “Why did you want to catch up with me?”
Will shrugged. “Hell, I thought maybe you and me could be partners, do some trapping, pan for gold…something.”
Tom found it difficult to believe what he was hearing. Will Proctor was too lazy to root hard for anything, and here he was talking like a schoolboy about panning for gold and trapping. Will was young, but this talk was too naive, even for him. He didn’t want to tell him how dumb he sounded. After all, the man had saved his life. If Will hadn’t been there, who knows whether Tom would have been fast enough to get both bounty hunters. It was probably a fifty-fifty proposition at best. Also, Will had made it a point to befriend him while most of the townspeople avoided him. He couldn’t forget that. Will’s proposal to join up with him seemed even more naive when Tom noticed that all he brought with him was his horse and a saddle roll. If he was planning to start out on a new life, he sure as hell didn’t come very well outfitted.
“Will, I appreciate that you want to go with me, but take my advice—go on back to town. Tell Aaron you made a mistake. He’ll understand. You don’t want to team up with me. Hell, I don’t know myself how I’m going to get by. Nobody’s found any gold around here in a year and trapping’s dead—has been for a long time. Believe me, if I had a situation like yours, I’d sure as hell stick with it. Take my word for it, it gets mighty miserable making camp in the snow.”
Will stood there looking at him for a long time before answering. He seemed uncertain about what he wanted to say. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe I oughtn’t to go with you.” He smiled and shrugged. “Well, anyway, have you got any coffee? Maybe we could make a little coffee before I go back. I didn’t have no breakfast this morning, and it’s a long ride back.”
Tom hesitated. “Coffee? Well, yeah. I guess we could build a fire and make some coffee. I hadn’t planned to stop to eat till I made camp tonight, but I guess I could.” He was somewhat taken aback by the request. It seemed like a rather strange thing for Will to ask. A germ of suspicion began to grow in Tom’s mind. Will was acting mighty peculiar. A moment ago he was hellbent to set out with him to God knows where. Then one word from Tom, and he was ready to change his mind completely. Suddenly the whole scene didn’t sit well with Tom.
“Where’s your horses?”
“Back down in that gully,” Tom answered.
“Well, lead the way to that coffee. My bones are cold.” His tone was a mite too cheerful.
Tom didn’t say anything and started down through the trees. He carried his rifle casually, but something inside warned him to be on his toes. There was already a round in the chamber, and as he made his way down the slope toward the gully, he quietly cocked the hammer back. Will followed behind him, leading his horse, keeping up a steady stream of idle chatter.
They had scarcely covered twenty yards when Tom heard the distinct click of the hammer behind him. He didn’t wait for the next sound. He suddenly dropped to the ground, whirling as he did so. The roar of the rifle startled him, it happened so fast. Tom had pulled the trigger without even knowing he was doing it. Will was already doubled over from the first slug that caught him in the gut before Tom could remember clearly seeing the drawn pistol in his hand. From simple reflex, Will fired two shots into the ground beside him, his gun hand hanging harmlessly at his side. In less than a second, Tom pumped two more slugs into Will, who was already mortally wounded and sliding to the ground. His horse, panicked by the explosion of gunfire, bolted, dragging Will a few feet before the dying man released his hold on the reins.
Tom lay on the ground for a few moments. He was stunned. Will Proctor was lying a few yards from him. His initial thought, beyond disbelief that it had actually happened, was that he was thankful there was a gun in Will’s hand when he turned. Otherwise, it would have been murder, pure and simple, for Tom had reacted so fast to the sound of
the hammer cocking that he actually shot Will before he had time to make sure he was holding a gun. For a moment he was overcome with remorse for having killed the young deputy. This was quickly replaced by anger. Suddenly he was aware of Will’s groaning, and he crawled over to the dying man.
Will’s eyes were open, though it appeared they were not focusing. They rolled from side to side as if searching for something. Then they stopped moving and he squinted in obvious pain. “Oh, God, it burns!” He clutched Tom’s arm, his grip like a vise, as he fought against the pain. Then he relaxed a bit, his eyes now clear. “Damn, Dakota, you’re as fast with that damn rifle as they said you was.”
“Jesus, Will, why did you try it?” He knew the answer, but he still found it hard to believe.
Will forced a smile, although it was obvious it required great effort. “I’m sorry, Tom. Honest to God, I wish I hadn’t done it.” His speech was becoming more and more difficult, his breath coming now in short gasps. Tom tried to hold his head up when it seemed his lungs were filling with blood. A large patch of blood spread across the front of his coat. “The money,” he gasped. “The money, I wanted the money. Nuthin’ against you, Tom. I swear…”
Tom tried to move him to ease the pain, to get him in a position that might make his breathing easier. “Dammit, Will, I didn’t want to do this to you. You gave me no choice. I had to do it!”
“I know, I know!” he whispered, his eyes closed tightly against the pain. “I ought’na tried it.” He clutched Tom’s arm tighter, almost squeezing off the blood flow. “Tom, don’t leave me out here for the wolves. Please Tom…”
“I won’t, I won’t,” Tom tried to reassure him.
Will relaxed. “It don’t hurt so much now,” he whispered. “I think I might make it.” Tom held him while the life drained from his body. A moment later he was gone.
Chapter XV
Tom just sat there for what must have been the better part of an hour, staring at the body that was once young Will Proctor, weighing the decision he had to make. The man was dead through no fault of his. It was a shame, Tom thought. Will had not seemed like a bad sort, but his decision to come after Tom was a bad one, and it was Will’s decision that caused him to end his young life, not Tom’s. Yet Tom could not explain his feelings of guilt, the same feelings he had when he killed Little Joe back at the Broken-T. Could he have avoided either killing? Searching his soul, he could not honestly say that either one was avoidable. The thing that still haunted him, however, was that he had fired at Will before he even saw the gun in his hand. He had been right this time, but what if he hadn’t? What if Will had no gun? He had to shake such thoughts out of his head. It happened the way it happened, he told himself. If he had not been quick enough, he would be lying there instead of Will.
Will’s horse stood looking at him about one hundred yards away. It had bolted when the shots were fired, but made no move to back away when Tom approached it. He took Will’s slicker from the saddle roll and wrapped it around the body. Will’s corpse was heavy, and Tom struggled a bit before he managed to hoist it up and across the saddle. He had been turning the question over in his mind whether he should bury him there or take him back to town and explain his death to Aaron Crutchfield. There was always the chance he wouldn’t be believed when he told Crutchfield what happened. But, one thing for sure, if Will’s body was found out there, there would be little doubt in anyone’s mind that it had been foul play. In the end, he knew he had to take the body back to Bozeman. He had promised Will he wouldn’t leave him out there.
It was late afternoon when he passed the southern-most buildings of the town and rode slowly down the middle of the muddy street. Breezy Martin was just coming out of the sheriff’s office. When he looked up the street and saw Tom leading the horses, one with a body draped across the saddle, he quickly ducked back inside. Moments later, he reappeared, this time with Aaron Crutchfield right behind him. The two men stood on the narrow board walkway in front of the building and watched silently as Tom approached.
“Tom,” Aaron stated simply as Tom dismounted and tied the horses to the rail.
“I brought Will in. Figured you’d want to know what happened.”
Aaron said nothing for a moment, but only glanced at the body wrapped in the slicker before looking back at Tom, his gaze steady. “Suppose you tell me what happened,” he suggested, his voice low, his manner patient.
“I didn’t have much choice, Sheriff. Will caught up with me and said he wanted to ride with me. Before I knew what he was up to, he tried to shoot me in the back. I got him first.” He studied the sheriff for his reaction to this before adding, “I was on my way to Flathead country. I wasn’t looking for any trouble.”
“You don’t seem to have much luck avoiding trouble, do you, Tom?” His tone was noncommittal. Tom wasn’t sure if Crutchfield’s reaction was sympathetic or merely sarcastic. He glanced at Breezy. “Git him down from there and let’s take a look at him.” Breezy did as he was told. Tom stepped up to give him a hand lifting the body off the saddle, and together they laid Will down on the walkway.
Tom stepped back as Aaron and Breezy uncovered Will and knelt over him. Will had bled quite a bit, soaking the slicker. There were three bullet holes in his gut, no more than a hand span apart. He watched the two lawmen examine the body. After a few minutes had passed with no spoken word, he offered his regrets. “I’m really sorry I had to do it, Sheriff. I didn’t have anything against Will. Hell, he saved my bacon in the saloon last night. Like I said, he really gave me no choice.”
Aaron stood up. “You damn shore made shore he was dead,” he said, indicating the three bullet holes.
“It happened so fast…” Tom began.
“You must have been at pretty close range.”
Tom shrugged. “I don’t know, maybe fifteen, twenty feet.”
“You say he tried to shoot you in the back?” Crutchfield pushed his hat back on his head and scratched his forehead as if trying to get the picture straight in his mind. “How come he didn’t hit you, if you was that close?”
Tom was beginning to wish he had simply gone on his way instead of bringing Will back to Bozeman. He didn’t like the way Aaron Crutchfield was looking at him. “I heard him cock his pistol, and turned around just in time. I was quicker than he was. He got off a couple of shots into the ground.” His patience was wearing thin. “Look, Sheriff, I didn’t have to come back here, but I thought it was the right thing to do. Your boy tried to shoot me down, but I was quicker than he was. That’s the whole story right there.”
“You must be pretty damn fast with that rifle,” Breezy said. “Will was pretty good with a handgun. He shore warn’t slow. Fact is, he was about as fast with a pistol as anybody I’ve ever seen.”
“Well, he wasn’t fast enough this time,” Tom replied calmly, looking at the deputy with a steely glare. He took another step back toward his horse and casually rested his hand on the stock of his rifle. He realized then that his version of the incident might not be believed.
Aaron Crutchfield did not fail to notice Tom’s hand resting on the rifle stock. He moved slowly and deliberately as he pulled Will’s pistol from the holster and opened the cylinder. He looked at it for a long time, then glanced back up at Tom. “Well, two shots was fired all right.” He replaced the pistol in the holster, Tom’s eyes following his every move. “’Course they could have been fired any time. Could have been fired by you, as far as that goes.”
“I don’t guess I particularly care for the sound of your thinking,” Tom said. “Are you saying I shot him down in cold blood?” His hand tightened on the rifle stock. “Because, if you are…”
“Now hold on, son! Don’t go gittin’ riled up. I’m just askin’ questions is all. I ain’t sayin’ you shot him down. I ain’t sayin’ you didn’t either. I don’t know what happened between you two boys out there in the hills. Will did turn in his badge this morning. And I noticed he’d been goin’ through the wanted posters. So I reck
on I can add two and two and git four as good as anybody. Will might of been aiming to collect the reward money on you. I don’t know and I don’t care. But I’ll tell you what I am sayin’. I’m sayin’ you attract trouble, and I don’t need no trouble in my town. I told you that the first day you set foot in Bozeman. You been here two weeks and already two bounty hunters come lookin’ for you. They’re both dead, and now my deputy is dead. Maybe you killed Will in self-defense and maybe you didn’t. All I got is your word on it, and that don’t comfort me a whole bunch. So what I’m sayin’ to you, Tom, or Dakota, whatever the hell your name is, I want you out of my town. That’s all. Just clear out.”
That was good news to Tom. “Well, I can certainly accommodate you there, Sheriff. That’s just what I was aiming to do in the first place.” He relaxed his caution in relief, a mistake he discovered too late. Had he not been so incensed by Crutchfield’s attitude and rankled by the insinuations, he might have been more watchful and noticed the shifting of the sheriff’s eyes and the slight nod of his head. As it was, he noticed Breezy was missing just a split second before the deputy’s rifle barrel came crashing down across the back of his head and everything went dark.
* * *
“God damn, Breezy! You damn near killed him!” Doc Brewster worked to stop the bleeding from the nasty wound in the back of Tom’s head. The blood had run down his neck and soaked the back of his shirt and coat. Tom only groaned as Doc tried to clean him enough to shave the hair away so he could stitch up the gash. He talked as he worked, never glancing up. “Don’t you know you can kill a man, knocking him in the head like that, up under the back of his skull?”
Breezy shrugged indifferently as he watched Doc cut away a large patch of Tom’s hair. “I had to catch him up under his hat.”
“Yeah, but did you have to poleaxe him like that? You might have scrambled his brains for good.”
“Aaron said put him out I put him out. Besides, I wasn’t about to take a chance on lettin’ him git his hand on that rifle of his’n.”
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